


Strung Along (2011)

by JennyB



Series: Lent 2011 [45]
Category: Trinity Blood
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Blood, Dark, Lent Challenge 2011, Love/Hate, M/M, Mild S&M, Mind Games, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennyB/pseuds/JennyB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They call him <i>Marionettenspieler</i>. And he has his sights set on the greatest prize of all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strung Along (2011)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackazuresoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackazuresoul/gifts).



> Written for Lent Challenge 2011. Prompt: It was so easy to make you mine.

Isaak peered over the top of his book when he heard the soft footsteps enter the room, his eyes narrowing in disdain when he saw the boy standing there. For several seconds, he let his gaze linger on the slender, attractive form, Dietrich's state of dress not going unnoticed. The crisply pressed white tailored shirt, partially unbuttoned and slightly too long, gave Isaak a tantalizing peek at pale Terran flesh, and Dietrich's lack of trousers left it to the imagination as to what, if anything, was underneath. He snorted with something akin to contempt as he took a slow drag from the cigarillo he held between his fingers, and he let the smoke roll slowly from between his lips before he spoke. "Something I can do for you?"

Dietrich smiled as he came farther into the room, his hips swaying just enough to make the shirt tails flare out slightly. He let his long eyelashes fan coyly against his cheek. "More like... _to_ me." His expression turned slightly darker and he glanced sidelong at Isaak. "I've been wanting some of your _personal attention_ , Isaak. It's been so long."

“How unfortunate.” Isaak's eyes narrowed further, and slipping his cigarillo between his lips, he snorted and returned his attention to his book. "I don't have time for foolish games and whorish little boys."

Dietrich's mouth curved down into a seductive pout, but undaunted he drew nearer to the raven. He traced a finger along the spine of the leather binding, deliberately brushing against Isaak's hand as his own curled around the top of the book. Knowing he was playing with fire, he snatched the volume to his chest, feeling a slight thrill of excitement run through him at the murderous glare he received for his audacity. Pleased with the reaction, he pressed his body between Isaak's thighs, his cock giving a small twitch at the other's proximity. "Don't you want me?" he asked.

Isaak contemplated that for a moment before he smiled cruelly and crushed out the stub of his cigarillo against a bared part of Dietrich's chest. As he twisted the ash deeper into the otherwise flawless skin, he murmured, "I think you're a worm. Perhaps an attractive one, and maybe slightly more interesting than the rest, but you're still a worm." He dropped the remnants into the ashtray, though he made no move to shove the teen away. After all, Dietrich's masochism paired so beautifully with his sadistic inclinations.

Dietrich's eyes fell closed when he felt the surge of pain, and he moaned wantonly as he arched into the vampire, wanting more. He caught his lower lip between his teeth and bit down until he tasted blood, his cock swelling to full hardness. Forgetting his place, he slid a hand up to rest on Isaak's shoulders, his fingers gently threading through the long, raven tresses as he lightly frotted against the other's chest. "Please," he whispered.

“ _Ambition is the last refuge of failure_ \- Oscar Wilde. Your attempts at seduction are just desperate, clumsy machinations.”

Dietrich whimpered softly when he was again denied, and looking very much the petulant child, he glanced down at the book he held. “...Chaucer. You desire poetry?”

“I desire nothing from you.” Isaak took his book back from Dietrich and set it aside. “You may be my protégé, but know that I feel nothing for you. In fact, I find almost everything about you repellent.” He cupped one of the teen’s cheeks in a gesture of mock-affection. “And yet, the more I despise you, the stronger your desire for me becomes.” The raven looked thoughtfully at the other. “Why do you suppose that is, Dietrich?”

The blond resumed carding through Isaak’s hair, his fingers tracing lightly along the nape. “Your Chaucer said _Forbid us something, and that thing we desire_. Maybe I want you because you don’t want me back.”

Isaak laughed. “Is that all it would take? If I were to whisper words of love to you?”

Dietrich shook his head. “I’d know you didn’t mean them.” His eyes hooded slightly, his lips curving upward in an evil smile. He felt Isaak’s posture relax beneath his wandering fingers as he carefully watched the raven’s face. “But even so, I –“ His eyes widening, he was pinned against the divan with the Methuselah’s hand clamped painfully around his throat, Isaak’s knee between his thighs. He could see the unfathomable fury in Isaak’s slate gaze; nevertheless he still whimpered wantonly, his cock pulsing almost painfully as the soft fabric of the other’s trousers brushed against him.

Isaak’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and for a second his hold tightened before he grabbed a fistful of cinnamon hair, roughly jerking Dietrich’s head to the side instead. With a dark growl, he lowered his head and mercilessly sank his fangs into the tender flesh of the boy’s throat.

Dietrich cried out softly, the sound morphing into a needy mewl with Isaak’s violent response. Groaning libidinously, he came hard moments later, every nerve ending sparking as his orgasm tore through him.

After draining him almost to the point of killing him, Isaak released his grasp, leaving Dietrich to slump against the sofa like a ragdoll. He licked the crimson from his lips, and then hissed, “You belong to me, and not the other way around, Liebling. If you _ever_ try to manipulate me again, I’ll cut your strings _permanently_.” He smirked a little, the fresh blood warming him as he silently observed the almost contented expression on Dietrich’s face.

“Thank you. ...Master.”

Isaak snorted. “I didn’t do it for you. You may be called _Marionettenspieler_ , but in the end you’re nothing but my doll to use as I see fit. You need this, Dietrich. My hatred. It’s the only affection you’ve ever known, which is why you’re so drawn to me.” He watched the other for a moment, his eyes cold and his expression condescending. “I will always hate you. That’s why it was so easy to make you mine.”


End file.
